Xena Returns
by FloatingCommaStingingThistle
Summary: The Xena movie we are all waiting for. A thousand years after Xena's death in Jappa, the remaining Greek God's have dispersed across the globe, renaming themselves for an ever changing world...
1. Chapter 1: Intro

***Disclaimer- I don't own Xena or characters. Tired of waiting for a movie, I'm writing my own version of what I think should happen, something that I'm trying to keep true to the spirit of the Xena series, though I am an Ares fan (I will try to use these relationships as a poeticism) It may be slow writing as I'm educating myself on the history and culture as I go.***

Intro

A thousand years had passed, the world turned on. The greek gods which survived Xena's blade, moved into the Roman

pantheon and took on new names. Their time passed too as the One God spread through the lands. They were adrift, searching

where they were being called, across the globe, new names. Apollo trekked to Jappa and held the morning light, and there was

called Amaterasu. Hermes spread himself out, blending into all transitions and boundaries, not being seen where he's been, but

always known. A trickster and friend of human kind, he stayed around men and contributed to their civilizations. He

understood that as long as he benefited man kind in useful ways he would always succeed, always seating himself in man's

unconscious. Sometimes he appeared to them as a snake, his earliest form. Even tricking people far into the future giving them

his sworn protection in life and death in their places of healing under his ancient symbol, which people erroneously

confused for another they had intended and had used. Aphrodite and Ares moved on too, trekking the furthest of any of the

other Gods. They headed through Africa, before crossing the ocean solemnly.

One thousand years or more. They had changed. Ares never found a warrior again that moved his soul to flames, and so made

up for his discontent with his growing intensity. He was dead set, on hearing the war song, which could drown the heart;

passion and will rising above all, could make the heart beat louder yet. This extreme, which secretly wished to bury a tender

song of love but never could extinguish it…only hid it beneath sound, appearance and habit. The imbalance between them

grew, their connection firm but one sided. Aphrodite was pale and tired, her eyes set with hope and love, determination and

mercy. Like a flower on a battle field amidst a sea of blood. Ares would always look out for his sister, but this change in him was

set.

Gabrielle and Xena; the poet and the warrior while being mortal, were not talked of, and not forgotten.

They were legends, the closest thing to God-hood a mortal could mount, for they lived on.

In stories and in the hearts of all who knew their tales and of their virtues. They went on affecting the lives which the very idea

of them touched. For man, and for Gods.


	2. Chapter 2: After Jappa

**(** Please review, let me know where you think the story is headed, any inconsistencies, what you would like to see so I can consider it. I rewatched pieces of the last series to try to be as accurate as possible regarding the states of Gabrielle and Ares, and created the funeral ending similar to which was discussed and considered for the show in terms of burial site and the attendees. This chapter deals with what we don't get to see at the end of the series)

 **After Jappa**

Gabrielle felt the breeze on the back of her neck and through her hair. The sun felt warm and as it set, she was left in the shadows of the night. The warmth left her; she held

Xena's ashes close to her and felt the remnants of warmth, her love radiate from inside her. It was't in vain. There was a sense of purpose and completion. That eternal torch

of strength Xena carried within her, was passed onto Gabrielle, Xena's soul was redeemed.

A warm tear fell with a breath down her cheek. That was all. She dreamt that night, of their kiss, of looking Xena in the eyes, searching for pieces of Xena so she could put

her beloved friend together again, carrying her dead weight, the lightness of ashes. Running through the forests looking frantically for her friend…

"Xena!" Gabrielle turns down another path, thinking she hears someone she calls out again "Xena!"

The sound of a wagon neared around a bend, the smell of fish was unquestionable. Gabrielle's heart paused for a beat. Pulling the cart meant to be drawn by horses and

stacked full with an impossible amount of fish was… "Xena! Oh thank the Gods. I thought, I thought you were…"

Xena was emphatic "I visited just about everyone who has ever meant anything to me! Except you, that's when I headed back." she looked back at the cart for a second and

then back at Gabrielle… "I hope you're hungry, you better get that fire started, you have a lot of fish to fry!" Gabrielle smiled playfully at her friend's challenge "Since when

did you grow the stomach of a Gorgon? You're not going to eat all of this are you?"

Xena smacked her lips "You bet I am, with your help. You better start looking for some firewood, you're going to need it. I'll start unloading the cart."

Gabrielle relieved smirked lovingly at her friend and went to look for wood, the forest grew cold, the sky darkened, everything was quiet.

"…Xena where.." Gabrielle awoke chilled in the dark, her camp fire had gone out. She stoked the embers, stacking more wood onto the remaining glowing warmth and

breathed life into the pyre, and gently flames began to lick the wooden edges until her camp fire was alight again.

Gabrielle reached into her bag and traced her finger over Xena's urn. Then she stopped. Grabbed a new scroll, rubbed her eyes and pulled out her pen and ink. There was no

way she was sleeping anymore tonight, she had to write. Write Xena's last adventure, and write it poetically, to the best of her ability as though it were life or death. With all

the zest of her spirit and endearing friendship in her heart, after all they had been through together, she wrote. With admiration, courage and tenderness. Until the birds

began their songs at morning time, and the sun arose. When she was done, she looked it over again. The last story of Xena written by the Battling Bard of Potidaea. She

looked at it a while, measuring the time that had past since she began her journeys with Xena with nostalgia and longing.

She smiled a sad smile, and carefully rolled up this last scroll of Xena. She packed up camp and trusted nothing but to hold Xena's urn close and this scroll. She walked

through many forests, many winding roads, retraced some steps but opted to take the quickest route back to Greece.

Camping on the border of Greece after months of travel, Gabrielle was exhausted and worn. She still held her calm, but she slept terribly and at times wondered if the Furies

had escaped death after all. She talked aloud to herself, or to Xena, to keep herself company on the road. She was not mad, only grieving.

Ares noticed the bard's camp and invisibly came to check things out, he couldn't sense Xena at all, and wondered if she was travelling a distance away to the East. Something

was off. The bard was a wreck. He took a step towards her.

"Don't listen to the sounds, listen to what's behind the sounds…" Gabrielle whispered to herself.

She grabbed Xena's urn close to her, and with the other hand whipped out her sword and held the tip unknown to her, at Ares invisible neck.

"That's some sharp shooting!" Ares snapped his fingers appearing before her in a blue light, "New tattoo" He touched the tip of the katana,

the sharpest one he ever laid eyes on "New sword" he pushed it aside his eyes glanced to her hip "…and a Chakram…"

Gabrielle relaxed her guard slightly, and with the weight of everything she said " Oh, Ares…Xena" her eyes were piercing.

He got that something had happened and that Gabrielle was trying to tell him something. "Where's Xena"

Gabrielle looked down at the urn. "Here" she replied.

He looked left and right in quizzical cynicism. She looked at it again quickly as it was held at her heart.

"Oh I get it, you're playing a game…" Ares was a bit anxious for Xena to understand that the the whole tale of the Scorpion and the Swan thing, that battle which Eve ended

up getting caught up in unintentionally, that it was his way of flirting with her- he knew she would win ,and he wanted to see her win against all odds as she always has done.

He accepted and loved the good in her. He assumed that she caught the subtext of his words and actions and now was flirting back in some way.

"No, Ares she's 'here' " Gabrielle stated firmly holding the urn, her eyes adamant, tired and heavy.

"What…what do you mean, she wouldn't fit-" He paled as his denial became obvious to himself, and realization hit. The Chakram. Why, why hadn't she eaten the golden apple!

He thought they could play like this another 10 years or more, she was the best there was, this was too soon!

Gabrielle saw his reaction, and felt compassion for him. Maybe it's her own fault, for stopping him, from making Xena immortal.

Oh gods.

Gabrielle grabbed her scroll of the last battle of Xena and thoughtfully passed it to Ares, he went to grab it, then stepped back a moment before slowly taking it from her,

opening it to read it.

Gabrielle's love, horror and strength were clear through her writing. He loved Xena as well, and her words turned his stomach as though he were witness to it himself- with

the sights of war he was familiar…he could only imagine. A thousand against one. He was glad Gabrielle killed the son of a bitch who considered Xena's head a trophy, with

Xena's own Chakram.

Xena had been redeemed in the end and ultimately Gabrielle had prevented Xena's soul from having been slain, Xena would be born again.

Taking a moment Ares closed it up and passed it back to Gabrielle. "Thank You" his eyes didn't meet hers.

He knew what Xena was like once she had made a decision about something. Gabrielle felt relief that he didn't blame her, but she felt it in herself.

"We better haul everything to Amphipolis and arrange the funeral, we need to bring her home, she would have wanted to be buried with her brother Lyceus" Ares nodded. To

ease the tension and distract them both he pointed at her shirt "What's that?" she looked down and he touched her nose and held a small smirk over his grief a moment,

Gabrielle gave a hint of a smile. Once she was ready he teleported her to Amphipolis.

—

Gabrielle, Ares, Virgil and Varia attended Xena's funeral. Ares made preparations and formalities, Gabrielle spoke. They all said their peace, recalling her stories and her

virtues, each took their time alone with her ashes to grieve. With Gabrielle's permission, before they placed Xena's sword and ashes where they would remain for their final

resting place, Ares reached into Xena's ashes taking some in his hand, heating and compressing it until it formed a diamond and set it above the winged beetle on his sword

pendant.

It wouldn't be until years later in Egypt that Gabrielle would discover that the symbol of the winged scarab holding the sun was used in funerary rights

to protect souls travelling through the afterlife. She learned so from a young priestess of the highest ranking of women, dressed in the skin of a panther who had dark familiar

eyes- soon before her own demise. The winds changed, and sands filled the old crypts. Time passed on.


	3. Chapter 3: Songs of Flowers in Giving

**The Songs of the Flowers in Giving; Small Feast for the Dead in Receiving**

* * *

The small festival was fully in swing. All day the local peoples had been collecting flowers in the mountains, bringing them down, back into the city to be placed into the care

of young maidens who intricately wove them into long wreaths to give to their beloved dead warriors. It was getting to be evening and the Xocotl pole was raised for the

young boys who were to grow into great warriors. They were all to dance around it to the beating of drums and song before they were to compete to reach a wholesome treat

at the very top. In promise and prayer to the War god, the greatest god of them all. The most promising warrior of them would be rewarded by the War god himself. Though

the festival was ultimately in praise of the War god, three lesser gods were re-enacted and worshipped, while small sacrifices were given to each in turn- a small taxation by

the native gods for his domination over them. Ares had travelled and been worshipped by over half the world, in the different forms he took as he passed through, his

experience surpassed this small civilization which he founded from a roving band from Atzlan. He asserted himself into the heart of this culture which he foresaw a seed,

having seen the rise and fall of many great civilizations. He lightly chuckled at the memory of it, as he had made them search for an eagle on a cactus with a snake in it's

mouth by a cave. He liked that when he felt silly, that man found meaning in it, and it became powerful though absurd- still yet a powerful symbol that stuck in the minds of

all and in their hearts.

Ares now a war god by another name, sat invisibly on his throne, for the people to feel his great power tower over them. He was dressed to suit the occasion with magnificent

plumes of green feathers at the sides of the headdress topped with a golden cast hummingbird's beak. Never had the god been more powerful or revered. His temple when

built was consecrated with the blood of 20,000 souls. However dark he had grown to be, it was offset by an undercurrent of affectedness. He had grown to be remarkably

sentimental, and it was created in him by Aphrodite who was now named Xochiquetzal, with the help of her adopted brother Xochipilli the flower prince. In part, this festival

was her doing. She still had a hold on her big brother, which is why a replica of the war god, a man dressed as him was sacrificed to her when her time of festivities began.

Ares sighed, he was quite bored. This was no Festival of Banners! He watched the young boys dance for a bit, heard the priests shuffling around in preparation of the activities

and small offerings. When the flowers were being offered to the souls of dead warriors, he had also offered flowers in respect to their service to him. He felt moved to do so.

It looked as though this little competition of 'little warriors' was about to begin, and his eyes watched disinterestedly. Once the boys began to climb the pole, he noticed a

stray child run to the pole from behind the bushes, and despite all odds gain on the others, climbing over them, nearing the top a hair beneath the boy in the lead. Despite

the late coming child's clear opening to take the lead, he seemed to hesitate, allowing the leader of the pack of boys to snag the prize at the top- touching the top just after.

The winner was brought into the temple to be bled by the ears in reverence to the gods, before accepting his great prize suiting to a future warrior- weapons and plumage.

His family could hold a flame of pride tonight for their son had gained the god of war's favour. The late comer was also hauled into the temple by priests and a commotion was

breaking out- which was not normal, quite out of place for this sort of festival.

"This child desecrated the ceremonies, tarnishing this festival to our god and should be sacrificed to him!", a priest asserted.

"The sacrifice of an innocent girl is not appropriate for this ceremony" another priest protested.

"She must be sacrificed to uphold the sanctity of our festivities, or the god is disrespected during his own festival- we must always uphold the gods honour!" The first priest

countered.

"Fire bearers come near!" Another called out, as the sun was setting.

The temple was getting crowded and many were scrambling around, attending to the ceremonies and some seeing to handling the disruption. Priests firmly held a defiant little

girl as they discussed her fate. The boy who was being bled and awarded the great prize had overheard the commotion and tried to break free from the priests calling out to

the girl. This was unsanctimonious behaviour which wouldn't have been tolerated at a larger festival on a more personal level for a god. The war god perked up a bit, leaned

his chin on his left fist in curiosity, a few golden bells on his uniform jingled. A few priests visibly stiffened and the girl cocked her head to the side.'

The little girl quickly took the opportunity of the pause to assert herself in poetic style. She clapped her hands, raising them and proclaimed in the loudest firm voice,

"Huitzilopochtli, I have come, you had called me here! Great Huitzilopochtli, I have come, you had called me here!" She kneeled and emphasized slapping her hands on the

temple floor. The war God raised his eyebrow with a growing curiosity. "this warrior has come in the wrong clothes, do you recognize a warrior in the wrong clothes?" she

emphasized to them all in grand gesture about her gender, the great taboo she had broken. "I have come to bring honour unto your name, I have come to bring you Quetzal

feathers for your hair!" She raised the prized feathers in each hand that she had hunted for in the forest of the Jaguars. The light of the fire caught a glint in her dark brown

eyes, a shard of blue, a fleck of brightness in the eyes unknown to this land.

"Great protector who gives us light and brings us day, Great terror who fights the stars from eternal night! I feel your flames burning in my chest and wields my hands, I feel

your fire burning in my chest and wields my feet. You have wielded a warrior in the wrong clothes, do you recognize your warrior in the wrong clothes?" She finished strongly

and bravely amidst them all, questioning with her eyes in total faith. Honest and sincere as any a warrior in all of Tenochtitlan. There was a silence, the priests were surprised

and unsure. A silence held in the room, there was a presence in the air that hung like the euphoria of the height and heat of a glorious day. Invisible bells jingled as the god

moved to stand. He smiled at her bold genius, she had just saved herself and more. He had not cared if she were to live or die today, but she spoke out to her cause, gave

him tribute and respect, and made him responsible for her actions today.

He wanted to take a closer look at her. He became visible to the shock of everyone, and they knelt or bowed before him with their eyes downcast, he hadn't made himself

directly known in a century or more. The world slowed down for all mortals present, each step he took bells jingled firmly at once then silence. He knelt on one knee before

the little girl and stopped. She was resolute but anxious about how to venerate him now, she focused on his foot and knee.

He reached his hand to her chin to tilt her face toward him, but she fought it. "I wish to see the face of this little warrior"

The priests were in shock at these events, years of service, and the god never reached out to them, not a sound save a jingle of a bell, and a powerful air.

The girl let him raise her face to him now, he looked into her eyes, and hinted with his hand to look up into his when she started to focus on his nose.

These eyes were not the same, but they were familiar. He knew these eyes! He could feel her burning with his spirit. A look of disbelief awoke upon his features.

The girl herself saw into his eyes, and to her there was something deeply familiar and powerfully mysterious, she caught his look and that he was thinking a moment.

His voice softened with a question "What name do you go by little warrior?"

Hearing the gentleness she felt comfortable looking at him and speaking. "My name is Zyania…those who are close to me call me-"

"Xena" the god finished near whisper. The little Xena feeling welcome now, but not completely trusting, warmed up to the god and smiled at him.

He appeared to make a decision. Before he could stand up, she reached up towards him and stood up. Many gasps escaped from the mouths of his priests, surely the god

would strike this child dead. Delicately she tied her quetzal feathers into his headdress, and the god allowed it, deeply moved as he was at this gesture and her presence after

so long. Yes, he recognized her alright. He could see in her eyes that she was very innocent and didn't understand the depth of her words or the full meaning of the exchange.

The culture of the warrior and of bravery brought whole truths out into the open, there were no lies between them.

When she was done, he stood up and proclaimed. "Little warrior, my finest warrior. I did not recognize you." He paused, "Growing warrior, my timeless warrior. I do recognize

you. I accept your words, and your offerings today before all who are present. I cherish the honour you have and will bring me through your hands, and through your feet. I

Huitzilopochtli have wielded a warrior in the wrong clothes. I Huitzilopochtli recognize my warrior in the wrong clothes." The war god opened his hand revealing a fine woven

bouquet of mountain flowers and presented them to the young Xena. "Please accept my offering to you during the giving of flowers. These are for you, you may smell them

from the top…and live" he added in case any of the priests in his service didn't understand his intent.

"Thank You" Xena took the flowers and did smell them from the top.

He nodded and smiled while holding her eyes. "When you compete next year, do not hesitate".

She smiled back " I won't hesitate again".

He turned around and vanished with a jingle. A presence left the room, and the priests released a breath they didn't realize they were collectively holding in.

* * *

Note *People only were to smell the sides of flowers, only dead souls smell from the top.

*Zyania means 'always' Xena means 'Hospitable' and did exist during the Aztec Empire.


	4. Chapter 4: Eyes of Xena and Sacrifice

**The Eyes of Xena and the Sacrifice**

* * *

Behind the bushes, dressed as a boy, the little Xena knew already that she had broken a rule or two enough to be seriously punished or killed. The rules were the rules; child

or adult. It took extra strength and determination to decide to openly compete as a boy in a sacred festival. It called out to her, always had, and when a god calls you, that

can't be wrong… Right? She couldn't picture herself weaving, sitting at the loom- the image of a flayed Xochiquetal sacrifice's skin, worn by a priest who pretended to weave

haunted her. That's what she would be every moment of her life if she didn't do this. Better to die now. A turquoise hummingbird flew up to her breaking her thoughts, and

looked at her before flying off.

She made a quick prayer to Huiztilophochtli and dashed from the bushes as soon as the signal was given,

she felt a great strength within her. She climbed quickly. She had been practicing climbing trees everyday, and had already hunted in the forest of the jaguars and been

spared by them- successfully hunting the sacred quetzal. She stepped around heads and arms fluidly, nearing the top with a gleam in her eye almost the victor. She met the

stern gaze of her twin brother Metztli who was a shoulder above her to her left. In respect to her brother, feeling like an imposter infront of him she hesitated, allowing him

the advantage but she made sure he knew she was right behind him.

He touched the top and she right after. As the children descended Metztli was grabbed in celebration by the priests to be bled by the ears in blessing before receiving his

honourable gifts. A few of the priests grabbed her having seen her jump from the bushes to question her when they realized her untruth. That she was a girl dressed in boys

clothing. Her mind was racing, but knew to talk truth. Her mother the lauded poet Tlaltecatzin had performed many of her poems, raising the plight of women in society and

their hardships on the soul to become pleasing flowers from the mouth. Her mother taught her basic form and types of poetry that she had dealt with which were responsible

for her unique place of honour in society. Speak from the soul and let it flower, speak everything essential, speak like you were dancing out your heart's capacity, if your

meaning were objects what would they be? That pulse of meaning that gives your song substance- that is the life of the song and should be revisited to keep it alive. Her

mother's teachings repeated as a calm voice running through her mind. She heard a commotion and her brother calling for her, he had broken his ceremony in concern for her

and may be punished for it, she needed to do something. The priests were deciding her fate, she sensed a presence here- powerful, emboldening the depth of her meaning,

giving her lips to speak. When she heard a jingle and a grip on her loosened at the priests pause she took her chance and silently requested her mother's spirit to guide her

words.

She clapped her hands, raising them and proclaimed in the loudest firm voice, "Huitzilopochtli, I have come, you had called me here! Great Huitzilopochtli, I have come, you

had called me here!" She kneeled and emphasized slapping her hands on the temple floor. "this warrior has come in the wrong clothes, do you recognize a warrior in the

wrong clothes?" she emphasized to them all in grand gesture about her gender, the great taboo she had broken. "I have come to bring honour unto your name, I have come

to bring you Quetzal feathers for your hair!" She raised the prized feathers in each hand that she had hunted for in the forest of the Jaguars. The light of the fire caught a

glint in her eyes.

"Great protector who gives us light and brings us day, Great terror who fights the stars from eternal night! I feel your flames burning in my chest and wields my hands, I feel

your fire burning in my chest and wields my feet. You have wielded a warrior in the wrong clothes, do you recognize your warrior in the wrong clothes?"

There was nothing left to be said, the song was done. Her mother's spirit had guided her. These things in the heart had their own life. The priests said nothing stunned. The

air was tense, powerfully joyful and time stopped, like those best days with loved ones which could never be forgotten. Her heart seemed to lay down it's foot with a beat,

when the god appeared. She looked down and was in disbelief as he approached. She was not aware of the gods directly appearing in these temples, amazed that the god

had listened to her song and appeared she tried to be most respectful. The songs were sung in retrospect, usually. Life was brutal and suffering uncomforted. This was a

direct accusation and offering to a god in a temple. She was well raised to be of a high social standing, and maintained all other respects.

When he touched her chin to raise it up, she felt connected to this power, and refused to raise her head to communicate to the god that she respected him despite her

apparent rudeness. And she quite expected to die at this moment. When he brushed his thumb over her cheek gently to communicate a further grip and begun to raise her

face again she knew she would be more rude not to look up the second time. She was stunned and felt alive. What caught her first was that looking at him was not like

looking at a stranger, or something beyond her, but like a relative, or a close friend. When he gestured her to look into his eyes, she was struck by how natural the gaze was-

but there was more to it, a calm mystery and a charming cruelty which was dignified with some virtue but she knew wasn't meant for her. She saw something she didn't

expect and she understood that he had seen in her something he didn't expect. She realized it was a recognition of spirit, he felt she was not a stranger to him either.

He asked her name, and she had begun to tell him, when he called her by the pet name her mother had given to her before she could say it.

"Xena"

She felt as recognized as all the days she missed with her mother. A love and respect welled up in her heart and she couldn't restrain herself, she needed to give her

treasured offering. She flew to his side to tie the Quetzal feathers to his headdress, with all the care and joy in her heart, with her feeling of home. She tied them extra well

so that they would never fall out. A sort of relief and heartfull determination fell upon her. It touched him.

When she was done he raised himself and addressed her. To her astonishment.

"Little warrior, my finest warrior. I did not recognize you." He paused, "Growing warrior, my timeless warrior. I do recognize you. I accept your words, and your offerings today

before all who are present. I cherish the honour you have and will bring me through your hands, and through your feet. I Huitzilopochtli have wielded a warrior in the wrong

clothes. I Huitzilopochtli recognize my warrior in the wrong clothes." The war god opened his hand revealing a fine woven bouquet of mountain flowers and presented them to

the young Xena. "Please accept my offering to you during the giving of flowers. These are for you, you may smell them from the top…and live" he added.

"Thank You" she said simply spoken with every fibre of her being.

He nodded and smiled while holding her eyes. "When you compete next year, do not hesitate".

She smiled back " I won't hesitate again".

He turned around and vanished with a jingle. A presence left the room, and the priests released a breath they didn't realize they were collectively holding in.

—

The war god appeared before his sister and filled his chest with air. The love goddess was surprised to see him, he wasn't usually in any decent mood to visit during his four

day birthday celebration she had lovingly arranged for him. "Thanks sis" He said nonchalantly not fully hiding the degree of joy he was radiating. This was the best birthday in

over 1000 years, and there wasn't even a battle or a siege being fought in his name. His sister was disgusted by all the death so that's understandable, that's why she kept

retinues of butterflies and birds all around her, as a shield to the brutality- maintaining her godly strength.

She was confused but happy for this sudden change. "You're welcome bro. Anytime…what did I do birthday hunk?"

"Oh you know, brought an old flame back to soon claim an old dream of mine… she called to me in poetry, in flower song. You and Flower Prince's signature."

He crossed his arms cooly and looked at her from the corner of his eyes stepping forward to see her reaction.

"Oh hun that's great! Warrior Babe? …But we didn't have a hand in this…oh" she stopped. He looked amusedly as she thought about something.

something hit her and there were warm pink sparkles everywhere. A butterfly landed on the war god's cheek.

"That poet I was friends with back a few years ago, she reminded me of my old friend Gabrielle! She touched my heart with her beautiful poems, she was the only one who

really looked at how women fit into society you know and what they felt. She had twins years back and was thinking of calling her son Metztli and her daughter Zyania.

Meaning Moon, and Always (like her wish for the sun to live and for life's passion) So romantic. I miss her so much…", she frowned and tried to throw off something that

haunted her. "I thought it was funny she called her Xena when she did a good deed around her family…Oh!" She brightened before fighting off a thought again.

"Gabrielle was Xena's mom in this life then. So, you didn't do anything, extra special? What happened to the poet?" the war god questioned.

"Must have been, Are." He gave her a look for using his old pet name before letting her continue. But she didn't see it, she was thinking.

"Mm. She was requested as a special sacrifice. I couldn't protect her" tears began welling up in her eyes. There was a lot she didn't like to think about day to day.

A butterfly landed in the war gods hair. He lightly brushed off the one on his cheek.

"Tlaloc." He said. She nodded. The watery world of the dead, Gabrielle would be in the wrong afterlife having lived the life she lived.

"My 'Husband' " She quoted with her fingers, " 'requested' " she quoted with her fingers again, " My friend's sacrifice to bring the rains to renew the earth"

a tear fell down her cheek and to the ground.

The war gods lip curled downwards. He couldn't touch Tlaloc, their temples were built across from each other in equal capacity, Tlaloc was a god who tolerated their inclusion

into their pantheon for it benefited him.

He wiped a tear from her cheek. The sadistic bastard wasn't going to get another tear from her. What a ridiculous way to accumulate power.

Not even the love goddess could fully protect herself from his selfish, controlling, version of love. The war god thought back to who he had been and cringed a moment, not

knowing if he were any better now. He sure liked to think he was though.

A beautiful bird flew past and pooped on his shoulder. The love goddess sniffled "Oh, I'm sorry about that, here" she waved her hand and his godly attire was cleaned.

he sighed.

"I'll go to Tlaloc to talk. Maybe we can…sort things out." He eyed the obsidian sword which appeared on his hip.

The war god motioned to go but his sister interrupted. She felt bad that she told him all this now, it was still his birthday.

She scrunched up her face a little. "Are…Happy Birthday"

She was sweet. He was just about as old as she was, and she still thought birthdays were special.

He lightly brushed a butterfly from his hair and flashed her a smirk before making arrangements to visit Tlaloc.

* * *

*Notes* Tlaltecatzin was actually one of few of the women aztec poets (despite the erroneous Wiki entry) and dealt with poetry in regards to women and love and other similar topics as far as I know which would naturally place her in Aphrodite's graces.

In aztec culture some sacrifices are chosen and dressed as a particular god, treated as that god for a year while living a life of luxury and praise before their brutal murders and quite frankly seriously derranged ceremonies that would haunt the edges of nightmares until the ends of history.

The aztec war god Huitzilopochtli mean something along the lines of "Left Handed hummingbird". Have you ever seen a group of hummingbirds together? Yeah, sure they look darling, but all they do it fight and try to stab one another with their beaks.

In south american culture the "Hero Twins" are a thing of myth or legend. Sometimes portrayed as one girl one boy and ruling the opposites of each other. Here Xena is aligned with the war and sun god so I named her twin Metztli. As sun and moon was one of the degrees of comparison culturally for this 'Archetype'.

Though I hadn't read aztec poetry in a while, I think I got the basics of it fairly accurately. Quoted from one of my sources on their poetry style...

"Their standard techniques included repetition in parallel couplets using synonyms and metaphors. They used rhyme and assonance but had no regular rhyme scheme or meter."

Their poetry ranged from a range of topics in varying position in society. Aztecs loved Poetry Jams, which they usually did to differing beats of drums. It was an intensely active part of their culture. It is funny how poetry was so beloved by a warrior nation.

Okay, kids were treated differently and the rules were intensely strict- usually resulting in death, no exceptions. Aren't we a spoiled lot today?

Therefore their manners were impeccable...

Tlaloc's mountain temple faced east of the pyramid, Huiztilphochtli's faced west. And were considered somewhat equal.

Their were four possible afterlife's decided not by how you lived, but by how you died. Tlaloc was the realm of water and his afterlife consisted of lush vegetation and perpetual spring. Tlaloc was married to the love goddess (as most are at some point in that pantheon).

Aztec's had four day long birthdays, who knew?

Hope you liked the chapter. Do you like when I rehash a scene through different perspectives, or would you rather the story move quicker?

What would you like to see more of? What's boring, what's interesting? Please let me know. Creative input please : ) please review.


	5. Chapter 5: Old Habit's Die Hard

Xena Returns: Old Habit's Die Hard and the Hero Twins.

* * *

The rains were in the southern sky; Summer was alive and lush. Tlaloc was very powerful this time of year, and quite possibly in a good mood.

Maybe he'd be in a mood to talk. Ares didn't want to have to get close to the creep, water always seeks to extinguish fire. Being around the guy when he was

in a bad mood felt inside like a slow drowning. If one sticks around too long, they would find their passions sunk, drowned, for weeks on end, it was no

wonder that Aphrodite or Xochiquetzal kept him as far away as she could and why Tlaloc was so adamantly her husband. Like Caligula, he was a parasite who

fed on her power. Yet, more for the love and enjoyment she brought him, than to really harm her. And their marriage had kept balance in the pantheon.

Sometimes when Tlaloc overstepped his bounds with the Love Goddess, the War God had to interfere and remind him not to go too far. Ares was suspicious of

a possible trap, but at the time of Gabrielle's sacrifice Tlaloc must have been weak, and Aphrodite too grieved to dwell on it to tell Ares, and by that time

Tlaloc was much stronger.

Yeah, could be some sort of trap for his twisted fun. Still, he wanted information.

Maybe Ares would have some fun of his own. He was feeling great, more easily like himself. He had second thoughts on the obsidian sword and transformed

instead into an old man of high social standing, and stepped into the world as if he had always been there. Morning had dawned, and since he wanted to

appear authentic to these uniquely observant gods and people, he would walk the hike up the mountain trail.

He feigned exhaustion, and prided himself on his acting ability. The aztec people wouldn't tell a lie, cryptically twist the truth yes, but wouldn't lie, and could

not be anything other than authentically acting out themselves. The most observant people he had ever met, of course lying wouldn't survive. Pretending to

be less or more than one was, was very taboo. Ares sometimes missed the classic comedy of a thousand years ago, it would never come about here. He

couldn't help his trickster nature in these regards, it was too easy. He smirked inside.

He climbed the steps slowly with a crooked walking stick pretending to have Osteoporosis, Arthritis in his right hip, dry eyes, digestion trouble and

psychological issues in regards to his deceased mother, deceased wife, and an invisible pet tortoise named Matlal who was a traumatic manifestation of his

existential sufferings- whom he sometimes talked to. Yeah. A master performance! He **knew** what he was doing, and he knew it was going to get good. He

was going to enjoy this slow walk, you know, get into the mind and heart of his character, talk out his tortuous life with Matlal, and get his story in order.

He inched along, blinking thickly as though his eyes were covered in an unhealthy film, furrowing his brows as he did so. Hunched uncomfortably as though

bloated and uncomfortable in the gut. He would use his walking stick to lightly tap each step checking it's stability, several times before deciding to step up.

Left foot first, while leaning on his cane, shifting his weight to the left foot and then timidly stepping up with his other foot and cane. Blinking heavily again as

though it took every ounce of concentration to do so.

"Ohuaya! Maltal, why you move so slow? Slow as a tree growing." ,Tap tap tap, he heaved a breath, stepped up shakily, leaned on the cane almost losing his

balance before stepping his right foot up and cane. "Slow as Chicle sap from a wound in Sapodilla tree" , Tap tap tap, he cleared his old throat from phlegm.

Heaved a sigh, stepped up shakily, and leaned on his cane just right this time before stepping his right foot up and cane. "Slow as…" He grimaced and re-

adjusted himself "Slow as..". tap, tap, tap, he stepped up left, leaning on his cane a little before grimacing as he brought his right leg up. "Slow Matlal, dumb

tortoise. I'm not waiting-" he coughed a little before shakily making the next step up. "Slow as Chicle sap collector ages while waiting after planting-" He

blinked with all his effort. "-Sapodilla tree".

He continued his climb, enjoying his act. It was ages since he last used the power of acting to influence an outcome. Be it to create ties between smaller

warring forces to create larger ones, when some of these matters required being more delicate. Or, to extricate sensitive information from sealed lips.

Two days passed by and he neared the mouth of the cave temple at noon in the heat of the day.

The first thing he decided to do was to feign a nap in the entrance way, muttering things in his sleep.

Before long a temple priest went up to wake him.

"Respected elder, awake! You are in a sacred place…respected elder…hello" The priest got closer to his face "Ahhhh!" Ares as the old man shrieked upon

'waking', "Ah!" the priest shrieked back surprised stepping back before gaining his composure.

Ares as the old man blinked heavily twice not really seeing quite right and sat up slowly, looking like his hip was about ready to give up on him. "Ah, that was

a fierce warriors greeting" he heaved. "Old men, not keep up with you young men" He grabbed his stick and with a terrible strain and heaved himself up

propping himself up with it.

He turned to face nothing on the steps "Matlal, you slow turtle, wake up!" and he turned back up the stairs. Clearly the old man was in tune with higher forces

thought the priest.

Ares slowly and strenuously climbed the last few steps and began to head towards the temple.

"Welcome to the great temple of Tlaloc" the priest offered but the old man strained so hard, the priest kept quiet so the man could focus.

As they headed into the mountain top cave temple of Tlaloc, the beauty and grandeur of the scenery on the horizon and the city off small in the distance was

quite a spectacular sight, there was a humidity in the air and the sun was at the height of the day. The air seemed to itself to be bright, as though the light

were magnified in every little hint of mist, every little touch of almost imperceptible water in the air. The air a top the mountain was fresh and there was a

slight coolness, entering the temple, painted in blues and decorated with turquoise. Murals of sea creatures bedecked the walls. In the centre of the room

there were four jugs filled with water on an altar set in place to face the differing directions.

Ares strained with every memory of pain and effort he could muster up of mortal fibre of being. An immortal playing a mortal man who had the strength to

live to the very end and on the verge of the abyss unafraid, edges of mind frayed but firm in past sufferings. Quite the work of art. He looked so pained, and

he moved so slowly, that the priest barely was able to voice his complaint when the old man moved toward the jugs, about to take water in his hands to

drink. The old man blinked with effort. "So thirsty" he whispered before the priest stopped him.

"Back away from the sacred waters of Tlaloc, you are about to take from the altar of Tlaloc. Know your place and respect this temple!"

The old man blinked and backed up a little. "Could….could you…. fetch an old man a drink of water. It is…." He strained blinking and rolling his tongue in his

dry mouth, " terrible to make a man walk a mountain…and restrain from him the water at the top" The priest noticed the old man's fragile, shaky arms, and

raspy breath, and understood the mistake done for one in such a fragile condition considering the heat of the day.

The priest kindly brought water to the old man, explaining that the four jugs of water each brought a different condition to the crops. One brought a good

harvest, the second would rot it, the third would dry it out and the court would freeze it.

The old man drank the water, and refreshed showed his formal respects. "Thank you, Lord Tlaloc for quenching thirst, for granting space" he turned to an

empty space and interacted in mind with some spirits thought the priest. He looked pained, and looked up with a tear in his eye. Turned back again. "Forgive

my error good priest"

"You were about to drink the dry waters" stated the priest.

"Then he would have my daughter and her father!" he winced in pain as he moved and hobbled irritated in the bowel. "Foolish old Matlal!"

"Your daughter?" inquired the priest.

"The noble poet, and mother of grandchildren." he passed wind and made a face. "Ehecatl why mock grief of old man?!"

The priest grimaced at the smell, yet managing to hide it and speak.

"I remember the sacrifice. Never had we sacrificed a mother before. She kept the children from crying much and it was great effort for all -a secondary

sacrifice needed to be made."

"My daughter, my daughter, your sacrifice was not suitable" he shook more "My wife, my mother, look at your jewel, your quetzal feather"

he farted again. "Where has her soul travelled?"

The old man looked weary and fragile. So the priest found him a place to rest, and promised to pray to his patron god in question of this one sacrifice to ease

the suffering of this elderly respectable man. He also promised to question the other priests. Ares rested, as an uncomfortable old man waiting for answers.

And he thought, and wondered what he may learn, it was a sacrifice even suspicious to the priest. So far this was working out well.

—

At the temple to the war god Huitzilopochtli, the priests were enlivened. What a great calendar day, a powerful day, a day of gift as the god revealed himself.

Xena , baffled by the change in the priests dispositions, was given respects from then on as a great warrior. She outshone her twin brother Metztli's efforts,

and he grew jealous that day, still he was amazed. Amazed at the god, amazed that his sister was addressed by the god. His awe and love won out for now.

The god addressed her as the greatest warrior. Him and his sister _were_ always in competition with one another… he grinned. The priests overlooked his

original breaking of ceremony and he was bestowed with honors. He didn't shine like his sister Xena that day, but he was the moon. She always had one up

on him, and he basked in her light. When they exited, the temple, they walked down the mountain of stairs where entire towns of blood had been spilled, side

by side proudly. Decorated as hero warriors. The priests lowering their heads at their descent. Bound together on a path now before them.

* * *

Please review, let me know what you like and don't like. I think I've read nearly all the Xena Ares fanfics now, to get an idea of what has already been done in that regard.

Ehecatl is the wind god, an aspect of the love goddess.

I really wanted to make a Tlaloc has nice sets of jugs, jokes, but refrained for the sake of the story.

Let me know if any parts are a little boring; I try to spice it up with a little humour. Hope you like this chapter!


End file.
